


Unclean

by Ltleflrt



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Gen, Post-BAaT, Pre-Alliance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ltleflrt/pseuds/Ltleflrt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A snippet of Kaidan being a messed up kid after BAaT and before joining the Alliance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unclean

The only sound in the room was the slight whirring of the ceiling fan and the crunch-tap-tap-tap-crunch of a credit chit cutting through crystallized chemicals on a glass plate.  He’d turned the music off when the euphoria started to edge back because instead of enjoying the beat, he found himself rocking back and forth to it, breathing too fast, scratching at his arms, running his fingers through his greasy hair. 

The beat was getting under his skin, crawling along his muscles like bugs.  

He knew he was at that point where he could start to come down.  The sickness was already starting to flutter in the pit of his belly, the headache building behind his eyes.  He could take a swig of the prescription strength cough syrup he didn’t have a prescription for, and curl up on the couch that smelled sour with old sweat.  He could force his eyes closed.  And something like sleep would overtake him.  

Eventually the drug would work its way out of his system.  

As he crushed the chunks of red sand into a more sand like substance, he tried to talk himself into starting the come-down process.  Tried to talk himself out of scraping the sand into four three inch lines.  It was the last of his stash, so instead he cut each line in half making eight smaller doses.  

Irritably he scraped it all into a pile, tossed the credit chit onto the table next to the plate and leaned back on the couch.  He rubbed his face vigorously, scrubbing the fatigue out of his eyes.  He tried to sit still, but that did not last long.  He stood up and paced back and forth in the small space between the couch and the coffee table, glancing between the drugs and the cough syrup.  

_This is not who I wanted to be_ , he thought to himself.  Not that he knew what else he wanted to do with himself.  When he’d first gone to BAaT, he’d thought maybe he’d be a soldier, like his father.  Maybe get a technology degree and spend the best years of his adult life building programs for faceless corporations. 

But BAaT made those dreams seem unreal.  

He didn’t want to think about it.  He didn’t want to think about the stress of being taken away from his family too young.  Of being pushed and pushed and pushed until he felt like his brain would leak out of his nose like the blood that often followed intense practice sessions.  He didn’t want to think about the knife slicing open his bottom lip.  The crackle of his biotics flaring to life.  The snap of bone. 

The look in Rahna’s eyes. 

The future that he could have had, should have had, died along with Vyrnnus that day. 

With a curse, he sat back down on the couch and picked up the credit chit.  He cut the sand into four lines again.  When he was finished, he picked up a slip paper that was curled from being rolled up so many times, tightened it into a small tube and quickly leaned down and snorted the first line.  

His head fell back on his shoulders as his sinuses filled with phlegm.  When he felt it begin to drain down the back of his throat he swallowed and his mouth was filled with the bitter taste of chemicals.  His face contorted at the disgusting flavor, but he could already feel the euphoria taking a grip on him.  He swallowed again, this time savoring the chemicals as they burned the back of his tongue. 

There was a rush of cool pleasure under his skin, and his fingertips went numb.  The painful fatigue that had been dragging him down lifted and he released his breath in a shaky sigh.  Tilting his head forward again, he looked down at the last three hits lined up for him.  It would normally be enough to last him another 24 hours if he was smart with it. 

Tears filled his eyes despite the rush of energy and pleasure filling his body.  He dropped the rolled paper tube on the table and leaned forward, his face in his hands, elbows braced on his knees. 

A sob shook him, then another.  And then everything came rushing out, no longer held back by the drug’s artificial joy.  He cried loud and long, the tears and snot dripping from his face to dampen the carpet between his bare feet.  

_This is not who I wanted to be!_  

When the sobs finally stopped, he was shaking.  He lifted his head and looked at the remaining red sand.  When he had first started taking it, he’d felt like he could take on the world.  It had filled him with a rush of motivation, and he’d made plans.  So many plans.  Too many plans.  Instead of doing the things he wanted, he’d become mired down with the flood of options his brain hummed with.  So instead he’d come to a standstill.  Here he was, nearly 22 years old, in a dirty run down prefab studio apartment, wearing nothing but stained pajama bottoms, surrounded by empty take out containers that were so old he was sure they were growing their own eco-systems.  

It had been two days since he’d eaten anything.  Instead of spending his weekly stipend on food, he’d bought red sand. 

With a growl, he swept his arm across the coffee table scattering the sand into the carpet.  Sudden panic gripped him and his chest ached painfully as his already madly beating heart sped up.  

It would be a week before he’d be able to get any more. 

He scrambled over and ran his hands over the carpet despite knowing it was futile.  The grains were gone, he wouldn’t be able to retrieve them.  

Leaning down, he rested his head on the floor.  Tears pricked at his eyes again, but he swallowed them back.  With a deep breath, he pushed himself up onto his knees.  The bottle of cough syrup was nearby.  He picked it up and took off the cap.  He drained the bottle in three swallows and drew his arm across his mouth.  It tasted bitter, but it washed away the chemical aftertaste of the red sand. 

He got up from the floor and curled up on the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.  If he was lucky, that much of the cough syrup would knock him out long enough to get past the worst of the come down. 

And when he woke up, he’d take a shower.  Then go from there. 

As his eyes began to feel heavy he tried to imagine what it would feel like to be clean again…. 


End file.
